


Blessed by Andraste

by Hatsepsut



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Andrste's face on a belt buckle, F/M, Humour, Mention of orgy, Sebastian is not an innocent chantry flower, Sex, Smut, Vaginal Sex, insinuation of m/m
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 16:32:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4883866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatsepsut/pseuds/Hatsepsut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric and Hawke are once again in the Chantry, killing shit. And they come across a revelation that stuns them both: Sebastian is not the innocent little chantry flower that he pretends to be. He knows that they know, and there is one way to make sure that nobody else knows what he knows that they know.<br/>Smut, humour (hopefully) and a chat discussion that run away from me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blessed by Andraste

Varric checked Bianca over, glancing at Hawke that was wiping her twin daggers on the jacket of one of their fallen enemies. He then looked around, absentmindedly, to the huge cavernous dome expanding over his head, the candles spilling red wax on the feet of Andraste.

  
“How come this place is always deserted at nights?” he asked, bending down to retrieve one of his bolts. “Ever wonder that?”

  
Hawke paused, then slowly looked around her, a crease of confusion between her eyebrows. “Weird,” she remarked. “I’ve never noticed that.”

  
Varric chuckled. “Well, think about it. We’re here all the time, killing shit. Where do these sisters sleep? In a vault?”

  
Hawke frowned some more. “Now that you mention it,” she looked around her yet again, “yeah, where are they? Hibernating?”

  
They exchanged a look. A smile graced her lips, a devilish little grin of mischief, her eyes sparkling. The little devil in Varric raised its head and saluted hers; they were two of the kind, him and Hawke, curious as cats, naughty as five-year-olds, the imp in him having found its perfect counterpart in the imp now raising its head in her.  
A slow smile curved his lips as well, and Hawke arched an eyebrow.

  
Varric pursed his lips not to laugh, then gave a bow and a sweeping gesture towards the stairs leading up to the sleeping quarters.

  
“After you,” he chuckled. “And remember Hawke- we’re tiptoeing. Not clambering. Not lumbering. Not stomping.”  
She winked. “Got it.”

* * *

  
The first room they found, a large dormitory with at least six beds, was completely empty. Varric and Hawke exchanged a look, then checked the one next door. Empty as well, nothing but rows of empty, perfectly made beds; nobody had even lain in them. They exchanged more puzzled looks, scratched their heads, then in a show of rare brain-farting even checked under the beds and even glanced up at the ceiling – just in case the sisters slept suspended from the rafters, like giant bats.

  
Hawke slapped Varric’s arm and they both rolled their eyes at their stupidity, then, truly intrigued now, they set out to explore even more, giggling and chuckling behind their hands, shooting each other outlandish suggestions of where the sisters could possibly be at this time of the night. The next room was reserved for Chantry Brothers. initiatives judging from the youthful faces that could be seen. That one was full, and Hawke had to quickly close the door before she could be heard snorting, as Varric whispered that perhaps the sisters were down underneath the blankets, and suggested checking.

  
But the absence of all the young sisters was puzzling; they found the older ones, the Senior Sisters, all sleeping in their rooms, most of them snoring heavily enough for a high dragon to be envious. They even found Elthina deep in slumber, and Hawke turned a deep shade of red trying to suppress her giggles as Varric crept into the room and used a charcoal from the fireplace to crudely draw a huge penis on the wall over her head. That last image, of Elthina’s mouth open in a snore underneath the tip of a huge penis would make Hawke laugh for days; she had difficulty controlling herself right now. Varric and she clutched at each other, silently laughing and hushing each other, giddy like mischievous schoolchildren as they made their way to the other side of the dormitories, where the rooms of the senior brothers were. Sebastian had a room there, Hawke and Varric had visited him many times, and they both erupted in another wave of stifled giggles as they pondered what prank they would play on their overpious friend.  
their laughter died when they reached the corner of the hall, and saw a long line of Sisters, in their night clothes, waiting patiently outside Sebastian’s door.

  
A long, drawn-out moan of pleasure sounded from inside the room, and Hawke and Varric looked at each other with eyes popping nearly out of their sockets in surprise. One of the Sisters outside the door knocked on the wood urgently, exchanging looks with the others waiting outside.

  
“Sisters, Brother Sebastian!” she cried out, keeping her voice low. “Keep it quiet! Everybody will hear! I think I heard some fighting from downstairs.”

  
A gasp almost escaped Varric, and Hawke elbowed him.

  
“Yes,” a second sister rolled her eyes. “Don’t these people have anywhere else to go kill each other?”

  
“And make it quick!” another Sister piped in, also whispering. “I have morning vespers! You four have been in there for ages!”

  
Varric and Hawke exchanged an incredulous look, then their lips started twitching. Before the laughter that was building in their throats had a chance to escape, they stormed down the stairs, running as if all the demons in the Fade were behind them and then burst out into the courtyard, where they collapsed on the ground, clutching at each other, laughing till tears ran down their faces and their bellies ached.

  
“Well,” Varric said in the end, wiping tears, still chuckling. “Choir Boy has a lot of explaining to do.”

  
“Like how he found himself in the middle of an orgy?” Hawke chuckled. “Oh, priceless.”

  
Varric winked. “The middle of an orgy is the best position to find yourself in, hon.”

  
Hawke erupted in laughter again.

* * *

  
Now that they knew that Sebastian was far removed from the picture of the pious, celibate brother of faith that he presented to the world, Varric and Hawke were having a ball at his expense.

  
At all time of day, at any place. Relentless but subtle, making everyone raise eyebrows and shoot them perplexed glances. Sebastian would just blush and avert his eyes, but now they knew: it wasn’t because of shyness. It was because of guilt.

  
“Hey, Choir Boy,” Varric would pipe up at random times. “You seem tired. Are you getting enough sleep?”

  
Hawke would laugh at the look of puzzlement on Sebastian’s face as he would invariably reply that yes, thank you, enough sleep, and Hawke would chime up and add that he seemed to have lost weight as well, and was he sure he was eating well?

  
The fake interest about Sebastian’s health escalated to all out teasing about the sisters at the Chantry, and whenever Sebastian would mention Andraste’s name, they would pointedly look at the buckle of his belt, the one adorned with Andraste’s face, and snicker.

  
After a whole day of that, and snide remarks such as “whoever thought of allowing brothers in the Chantry? That’s like putting a rooster in a hen house,” and “all those young pretty sisters...I wonder what they do for fun,” Sebastian had a pretty good idea of had gone on. When he went back to the Chantry at night to learn about an obscene doodling that had been drawn by unknown pranksters on Elthina’s wall, he knew.

  
He facepalmed, and cursed under his breath. That night, the young sisters that arrived in droves to knock on his door were disappointed to be turned away, with a gruff “not tonight!” and they all went back to their beds, shooting the door behind them longing looks.

  
Sebastian spent the night thinking, turning his options over and over in his head. If those two knew...then the whole of Kirkwall would soon know.

_Unless..._

* * *

  
Hawke was in her study, leaning near the window with a piece of parchment in her hand, trying to catch the last of the fading light of the late afternoon in order to read. She raised her head when Sebastian walked in, offering him a small smile, then squinted at the parchment again.

  
“I swear,” she said, her eyebrows scrounged up, “Seneschal Bran uses his tiniest handwriting when he writes to me, just to be obnoxious.”

  
Sebastian didn’t answer. He just crossed the space in three long strides, and grasped her wrist, pulling the hand holding the letter behind her back.

  
She gasped, and raised her eyes to his face, only to have her breath leave her lungs with the whoosh of shock at the molten, predatory look of desire and determination in his cerulean eyes. She had time to let out a squeaky little sound as he pulled her towards him, then leaned down to kiss her.

  
Her eyes bulged in shock at first, and she went stiff. But then the incredibly soft texture of his lips registered. He licked along the seam of her lips, one long, incinerating caress and her eyes drifted shut on an amazing wave of want and pleasure; she allowed him entry, opening her mouth for his talented tongue to invade her mouth, twining with hers, caressing her expertly, setting her on fire.

  
Maker, his taste. She went pliant against him, and she could feel the stretch of his lips into a cocky smile before he cupped her behind in both large palms and lifted her clear off her feet.

  
Before she knew it, she was bent over her sturdy study desk and her short house dress was lifted upwards, revealing her creamy backside to the man behind her, that just growled and ran calloused fingers over her trembling flesh. She thought she heard something clang to the ground, and realised with a little amused chuckle it was the belt buckle with Andraste’s face. Before she had time to tease him, she tensed again, then her eyes drifted shut again as a throaty moan escaped her.

  
His mouth, Maker, _his mouth_. So warm and talented, roaming over her backside, leaving open mouthed kisses and little stinging nips along her flesh. She gasped and then giggled a little when his tongue –Maker, so hot, so capable – slid the length of her crack, stopping to pay tribute to the little puckered opening between her cheeks. And then she could make no other sound than gasp and moan and keen his name as he pushed her thighs apart and knelt between her legs, worshipping her core with long, swiping strokes of his tongue. Her thighs started trembling because, _damn him_ , he was so good at this, so thorough, so fucking knowledgeable about where to stroke and how, where to apply more pressure and where to use only small, teasing licks and feather light caresses.

  
Her head was spinning, but somewhere along the fog that had enveloped her brain and her senses she was aware of exactly where and how he had acquired such expertise, and she wondered what had brought on this sudden, unexpected display. But then he felt him rise to his feet behind her, she felt something incredibly soft and hard at the same time rest against her weeping opening and he just thrust.

  
For the second time, she lost her breath on a gasp of surprise, struggling to take him all in, hissing in distress. Maker, he was huge. He was huge and hard and long and thick and just perfect. Big enough to make the fit almost painful; to add that little sting of pain that could excite her to no end. He leaned his big body over hers, dwarfing her, and she felt surrounded by a level of masculine virility she had never experienced before. His scent, the trembling of well-toned, brawny muscles, his soft, murmured burr in her ear praising the tight, snug fit. His shaft, pulsing inside her like a second heartbeat, filling her to capacity.

  
She keened his name and then he started thrusting and Hawke lost herself, stopped wondering, stopped thinking, stopped feeling anything but that thick, long shaft hammering inside her. She just surrendered, and felt, and enjoyed and suddenly she knew:  
Those sisters in the Chantry kept going back for more, because damn him, he was delicious as sin, and who could have enough of him?

She shot him a look as he bent to retrieve his belt buckle, and then raised her eyebrow at him, when he blushed at the way she stretched out on the table, the flesh between her thighs glistening with their combined fluids.

  
“A little too late to be blushing, Sebastian,” she purred, and he nodded, then gave her a sheepish smile.

  
“I realise that,” he said.

  
She raised her eyebrow again, then stretched again, as sinuously as a cat, undisturbed with the fact that her female flesh was on display. She caught a little narrowing of his eyes, a gulp of want, and could almost swear he was for a moment contemplating taking her again on that same table.  
“So,” she chuckled. “What brought this on, Choir Boy?”

  
“You know what,” Sebastian frowned. He started looking annoyed, then he grit his teeth, realising that he would just have to out and tell her, and not wanting to.   
“Let me guess,” Hawke batted her long eyelashes at him. “You want me to keep my mouth shut about your...little harem.”

Sebastian pursed his lips, then raised an eyebrow himself.

  
“Ah. And make Varric keep his mouth shut as well,” Hawke added. “Got it.”

All the tension left Sebastian’s shoulders in a whoosh. “Yes. Thank you Hawke.”

“What about Isabela?”

“Isabela knows??”

“Isabela and Anders and Fenris and I think Merrill, too,” Hawke watched him bring his hand firmly against his face with a resounding crack, wanting to chuckle and resisting the urge with a lot of difficulty. “Varric told them. Well, he insinuated it, to be honest, so I don’t know if Merrill got it or not.”

“Oh, for the love of the Maker!” Sebastian groaned, then heaved a deep breath and sighed. “Aveline?” he gave her a small terrified look that made the chuckle she had been desperately keeping in finally escape her. 

“No, Aveline has no clue.”

“Thank the Maker for small graces!”

She cocked an eyebrow at him, her eyes going wide with sudden realisation then her eyes shifted to the desk and to her own half naked form. If he had done this to keep her quiet, then...did that mean he’d make the same offer to the others?

“Sebastian?” she squeaked, incredulous, and he just answered her unspoken question with a small smirk and a shrug.

He would. Damn him, he would. A small snorted laugh escaped Hawke, and then a she licked suddenly dry lips. Maker. What had they unleashed?

He turned and left, his gait just as determined as it had been when he’d gotten in the room and she was left staring after him. Just before he got through the door, he turned over his shoulder.

  
“Mondays good for you?” he asked.

  
Hawke did a double take. So this was not an one time deal? “Ermmm...yes?”

  
“Good,” Sebastian sent her a wicked smile. “See you then.”

* * *

  
When Hawke next walked into the Hanged Man, Varric greeted her with a knowing smirk and a naughty light twinkling in his eyes. She sent him a questioning look, to which Varric replied with a gesture pointing upwards, to the rooms at the second floor, and then bid her follow him.

  
Puzzled, Hawke followed her friend, until they reached the last room in the row, the one Isabela occupied. She could already hear moans coming from the room, as well as the sound of squeaking bed springs and the wet, indecent sound of flesh slapping against flesh.

  
She blushed to the roots of her hair.

  
“Something you forgot to tell me, Hawke?” Varric inquired in a low, amused murmur. “Why did Sebastian say that Isabela could have Tuesdays, because you had Mondays?”  
She hushed Varric, then, her blush spreading, she pushed him towards his suite. But before she followed the laughing dwarf to his room to explain and make him promise to keep queit, she leaned in and glued her eye to a little hole on the rickety wood of the door.

  
She gasped, then pulled back, thought about it, then glued her eye to the hole again.

  
 _Well_.

  
She pursed her lips. Oh. That looked...painful. Excitement started building inside her, heating her bloodstream, as she watched Sebastian take Isabela on all fours, the pirate twisting the bed sheets in her fists as that long, thick cock that Hawke couldn’t stop thinking about tunnelled up the busty pirate’s ass. Hawke watched, breathless with want and excitement, focused on the image the ex-prince presented; he was like a lusty male animal, sweat slicked body, muscles bunching and trembling under his supple skin, his eyes dark with want, his frame corded and tensed and so incredibly...male.

  
“Ehem!” Varric called from the end of the corridor, and Hawke jumped away from the door and gave her friend a sheepish smile.

  
“It’s not what you think!” she quickly mumbled but Varric just scoffed.

  
“He offered me Wednesdays,” Varric said, “but I wasn't interested. So, I call _le bullshit extrordinaire_.”

  
She lowered her head, caught half way between embarrassment and amusement.

  
Varric sighed, then gestured her towards his suite. “Come. Details. Minute details, if you please.”

  
She almost skipped towards him, her face lighting up with a cheeky grin. But before she got there, Varric just mumbled to himself “I wonder if that means Fenris gets Wednesdays and Anders Thursdays” and she stumbled and fell flat on her face.

  
Oh, the mental images.

 _Maker_.

* * *

  
Two weeks later, and Varric was slowly shaking his head at what he was seeing, not really believing his eyes. He shot a questioning look to the tall, composed ex-prince sitting in the chair opposite him, glancing between the two women that were almost plastered to his side.

  
He sighed.

How had they come to this?

  
On Sebastian’s left, Isabela had leaned over the ex-prince’s shoulder, offering his advice on how to counter Varric’s moves. From time to time, her tongue came out to lick along the Chantry Brother’s ear, and whisper something in his ear, which Varric had no doubt was absolutely filthy. Her one hand had disappeared under the table, and from the glazed, fogged look on Sebastian’s face, Varric could tell the pirate was cupping him under the table, maybe even jerking him off.

  
Hawke sat on his other side, almost draped all over him. She caressed his hair and his jaw, then ran her fingers in small circles over the small of his back, and when Sebastian jolted a little Varric was sure that hand had slipped even lower.

  
But he did not want to think what his friend was doing to the Choir Boy with her hand dipping inside his britches at the back, no, no, thank you very much.   
Just then, Anders walked in, and Sebastian raised his head to greet him; The blond healer leaned in and brushed a kiss against Sebastian’s mouth, then sat at the other side of Hawke, giving her an amused look as he noticed where her hand currently was. She smiled at him, a secret look of shared fun between them, that Varric kind of envied.

  
But what Varric would probably never come to stop being surprised at, would be Fenris. When the elf came in, he gave Sebastian a small nod, then he reached out, and tucked a small tendril of hair behind the human’s ear, smiling fondly. For Fenris, that was just as shocking as if he had bent the ex-prince over the table and fucked him senseless in front of all of them.

  
Sebastian blushed, and Varric just had enough. He threw his cards on the table, then huffed.

  
“How can you still blush, for fuck’s sake?” he erupted. “HOW? You have Hawke on Monday, Isabela on Tuesday...”

  
“No,” Anders interrupted. “We swapped. I got Tuesdays and Isabela got Wednesdays.”

  
Varric gave the blond healer a miffed look then went on as if he hadn’t talked, frustrated beyond measure. “You have Fenris on...?” he shot a look to the elf who readily supplied “Fridays” and then continued, “and then, you have all those fucking sisters and vice versa.”

  
“And Sunday is orgy day,” Isabela purred.

  
“And Sunday is...what?” Varric’s eyes bulged out. “I fucking give up. How do you do it? Why aren’t you knackered?”

  
A slow, mischievous smile spread on Sebastian’s face, then he pointed to his crotch, where the belt buckle with the face of Andraste on it rested, over his bulging erection.  
“Blessed by Andraste,” he just said.

  
“Fuck you, Choir boy.”

  
“I offered. You weren’t interested.”

  
“Well, that might have been a mistake,” Varric mumbled over his drink, while the others laughed. 

  
The end

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, one day I was talking to a couple of friends about this piece I'm writing (an orgy, haha) and I mentioned that Sebastian has already come about six times and I should be careful because some smart alec is bound to inform me -again- that men have a limited amount of spermatozoa and that's not possible (true story).  
> this is the dialogue, word by word.
> 
> Me: this orgy is turning into a monster. There's bound to be some smart alec popping up to inform me that men have a limited amount of spermatozoa again.  
> *rolls eyes*
> 
> Lyn: Well he does have Andraste resting on his crotch all the time  
> maybe she blessed him with more
> 
> me: that begs to be written as a separate fic. Sebastian plowing his way through the Chantry in secret (that's why all the sisters never appear at night when you go to the Chantry to kill shit)   
> and then half of Kirkwall.  
> And then somebody wonders how he does it.  
> And he points to his crotch and says "blessed by Andraste"  
> LOL
> 
> And that, my dear readers, is how fics get written.  
> Honest to God.  
> My thanks to Lyn for that amazing response!


End file.
